


A Pair of Fine Eyes

by thelairoevie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Avatar of the Lonely Martin, Cannon Typical Violence, Endgame Jonmartin - Freeform, Endgame TimSasha, Endgame WTGF, Espionage, F/F, Free space days, I do a great disservice to daisy, I just needed someone to be a romantic rival, Jon still has archivist powers, M/M, Melanie gets some ghost fighting powers, This contains a grave injustice to Oliver, Tim drinks his "respect everyone" juice, featuring elias as still awful, featuring peter as a surprisingly good dad, georgie gets some death powers, high society - Freeform, pride and prejudice au, tmasafehousefest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelairoevie/pseuds/thelairoevie
Summary: Fourteen families in Victorian England call upon their Gods for fortune and power. Throughout history, they have banded together, and created their own society, politics and relations.When young heirs come of age and come of power, they look to the other houses for a match.Between balls and rituals, pride and power, Martin Lukas has to contend with an infuriating Seer, the distant heir to his father's fortune, and his sister getting shot by a ghost.
Relationships: (one-sided), Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Helen Richardson & Michael Shelley, Martin Blackwood & Melanie King, Martin Blackwood & Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker (minor), Oliver Banks/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Martin Blackwood, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. Cast List

**Author's Note:**

> Happy JonMartin day! (9/25)  
> I will post new chapters once a week for the free days on the safehouse fest schedule. If there's more to go after that, I will keep posting, again once a week.   
> I reread the entire novel by Jane Austen and watched the movie for this. I tried to stay as true to her writing as possible when it's gay and there's ghosts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True to form, a cast list.

House Lonely:

> Mr. Peter Lukas - Current head of House Lonely
> 
> Mr. Evan Lukas - Brother to Peter Lukas, head of Solus Shipping company
> 
> Mr. Martin Lukas- Heir to House Lonely, adopted son of Peter Lukas
> 
> Miss Melanie Lukas- Elder sister to Martin Lukas, adopted daughter of Peter Lukas

House Beholding:

> Mr. Elias Magnus- Current head of House Beholding
> 
> Mr. Jonathan Magnus- Elder son of Elias Magnus, Heir to house Beholding
> 
> Miss Basira Magnus- Younger sister of Jonathan Magnus, daughter of Elias Magnus

House End:

> Miss Georgie Banks- Heir to House End, younger sister of Oliver Banks, ward of Elias Magnus
> 
> Mr. Oliver Banks- Current head of House End
> 
> The Admiral- Semi-sentient cat belonging to Georgie Banks, can see and talk to ghosts

House Distortion:

> Lady Helen of the house with the yellow door- Current head of House Distortion, family friend of the Lukases
> 
> Lord Michael of the house with the yellow door- Current head of the House Distortion

House Stranger (Powerless):

> Miss Sasha James- Sole member of the House Stranger, Best friend to Martin Lukas

House Vast:

> Mr. Simon Fairchild- Current Head to House Vast, Uncle to Martin Lukas
> 
> Miss Fairchild- Wife to Simon Fairchild

House Web:

> Lady Anabelle Cane de Lagorio- Current head to House Web, distant relation to Elias Magnus
> 
> Mr. Timothy Stoker- Heir to Solus Shipping company, distant cousin of Martin Lukas, ward of Lady Anabelle

Apothecary of the Flesh:

> Dr. Hopsworth- Head Apothecary

The Hunt Brigade:

> Officer Daisy Tonner- Officer for the Hunt Brigade, once a servant to The House Beholding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit, I have no idea if this counts as acceptable for safehousefest2020, but it was a wonderful excuse to suddenly switch from my other (unfinished) projects.


	2. A Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how it begins: a lonely man's first dance, or perhaps lack thereof.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that all great families must continue, from one generation to the next.   
  
However little the heads of any house may like it, this truth is so well established that, when such a family has children of age, the neighboring powers will eventually begin to take notice. Even such carefully guarded families as that of Mr. Peter Lukas.   
  
“My dear Peter,” his brother had told him one day, “have you heard that someone has finally taken claim of the Leitner Estate? Do you know who has just moved in?”   
  
“I do not, but I have a sense you will tell me either way” Peter replied, not looking up from his project, a ship in a bottle.   
  
His brother gave a hearty laugh. “It is to be taken by the House Beholding; Elias Magnus came down himself to see the library, and he has agreed to buy it immediately, and he has brought with him his eldest daughter and son.”   
  
“Why do I need to know this?”   
  
“They are both of your heirs’ age. This is good news for you.”   
  
“Is this Elias’ design? There is no love for his kind in the Lonely.”  
  
“Design, Peter? This is about securing a powerful continuation of the family. You and your children must visit them as soon as they arrive.”   
  
“I see no reason to meet with anyone at this time. You may send the children, if you must, but you and I cannot spend time with the Beholding so casually, we might lose the Lonely’s favor.”   
  
“Sending the poor ducklings on their own? Brother, you truly have no compassion.” Peter Lukas was the coldest, most isolated and most powerful in his family. With his unfeeling politeness he was the perfect person to uphold the family rituals and practices that kept them in the favor with the supernatural power of the Lonely House: for the price of their isolation, their company had protection on the seas and among any people. Those in his family that were blessed could avoid all attention, keep all secrets, and even fade their bodies into mist. Evan Lukas was the least powerful of his brothers, but he was a man of society and understanding. His business was not the supernatural, it was his family, and he knew his family must continue on.   
  


* * *

  
  
“What an excellent father Peter is,” Evan cried as he marched into the room where Martin and Melanie, the adopted children of Peter, were attending to their studies. “I have his assurances that you will be attending the upcoming ball in celebration of the opening of the Magnus Archives. You shall meet the newest residents of the Leitner Estate.”   
  
Martin Lukas, being a specialist in solitude, did not know what to do at a ball. “I suppose people will have to try and dance with me,” he worried, “even if I’m not the oldest.” As soon as he was married, he was to become family head to allow Peter to retire. Given his father’s waning strengths, he would need to find an arrangement soon. This was, of course, what the balls of the first fourteen (now fewer) houses were originally for, keeping the secrets of the supernatural between certain families, while allowing them to marry. However as a Lukas, he had never before been allowed to attend one.   
  
“Oh, don’t worry, at least you’re the tallest,” Melanie called from across the room. She was working over something with a knife. Melanie was casual, quick-witted, talented, and confident. Altogether a better choice between the two of them as a spouse. Martin prayed that he would still get his chances.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
They were graced with their first sighting of the Magnus family long before the House Beholding was allowed to see them, although Elias had the power to divine what they were like. That was the specialty of the Beholding, trading knowledge for the ability to see what you were asked to be shown. It was why Peter disliked them so much, the Beholding was particularly good at uncovering his secrets.   
  
Martin was gazing out the window when a young man on a black horse rode into view. He was slight, his skin was darker than anyone in the Lukas house, but lighter than anyone from the Banks family. He had long black and silver hair that waved with the wind. His coat was the Magnus signature black and green. His sister, Basira, followed, but was difficult to see under the dark green scarf secured over her hair.   
  
Evan had extended dinner invitations, but the Magnus family was apparently needed in town. They were, as always, in the process of research for their Institute, though Evan was reassured by their neighbor’s insistence that all of them would be present for the ball.   
  
The neighbor, a helpful lady named Helen from the house with the yellow door, offered some less comforting information to Martin: seven of the powerful houses had been invited to the ball. This was more powers in one place, and many more people total, than Martin or Melanie would ever have seen. He was only somewhat comforted in knowing that Helen’s house would be one of the seven, as would the Fairchild family, who worked with him often enough. When they entered the room where the ball was to be assembled, it was not as crowded as Martin had feared.

* * *

  
  
Jonathan Magnus drew stares with his noble, intelligent air, and his sharp features. Completely unknown to him, he was considered rather handsome, even considering his smaller stature. This, and his status as an unmarried heir of the House of Beholding earned him great admiration for the beginning half of the evening, until he was allowed to speak. He has a smooth, low and gentlemanly voice that was completely ruined by his lack of general manners. He was very soon to be established as proud, snappish and above being pleased, and even his status seemed less appealing by the minute, especially in comparison to his friend. Miss Georgina Banks, the younger sibling from The House of End was in attendance as Jon’s best friend. She was good looking, approachable and charming in a down-to earth way, and exuded a pleasant confidence. People rapidly found Jon unworthy of her.   
  
Georgie quickly made the acquaintance of almost everyone in the room, she was lively and humorous and never rejected a dance. Jon, on the other hand, only danced once with her, and once with Helen, before declining to be introduced to anyone in the room, and skulking in the back of his own party. Martin hoped to not see him much, as handsome as he was . He was the most disagreeable man present, and everyone, including Jon himself, hoped he would never attend a ball again.   
  
It was apparent that Melanie had found a favorite when she gave not two or three, but nearly all of her dances to Georgie Banks. The pair seemed to suit each other handsomely, radiating an equally fiery and beautiful passion between them. Georgie clearly returned this affection.  
  
Martin had been relieved to be allowed to sit out for most of the dancing, as Melanie was the more popular Lukas. He had been expected to continue a constant but contained pour of mist from himself, his family’s subtle show of power; the trace of loneliness on it kept others away. It was while he was sitting here, maintaining his ability to slip between the notice of others, that he overheard what Jon and Georgie were saying.   
  
“Come off it, Jon. You look stupid standing about yourself like this. You'd better dance.” Georgie insisted. “The men and women here are rather pleasant, if you allow them to be.”  
  
“The only attractive and of age woman here is you, and you are much too distracted by her,” Jon snapped. He was of course referring to Melanie.   
  
“Oh, for sure. She is the most passionate and beautiful creature I have met. Better yet, Jon, she has a brother, and he is rather dashing, and I have heard he is quite the hidden gem.”   
  
“Who?” Jon turned, but didn’t seem to need to look Martin in the eye for Martin to know he was being thoroughly examined by Jon’s supernatural ability to See. “He is tolerable, but not in the least bit tempting. Not to mention his connection to his House’s power seems feeble and uncontrolled. I am not in any mood to entertain second place. Go back to your girl, Georgie.”   
  
Martin held no fondness for Jon after that. When he told Helen and Melanie, they laughed at the story, and decided that the heir to the Magnus name was a ridiculous ass.   
  
He had a more pleasant, although brief, experience with Basira Magnus, who was an uptight and reserved young woman, but much more polite than her older brother. She was young enough that marriage was not yet on her mind, and she seemed to be in attendance simply because it was her home. However, as a host with a good upbringing she entertained those she had been introduced to. When she was not in pleasant conversation she stood in the shadow of Oliver or her father, and read from a small book she carried.   
  
The pinnacle of the evening began as the music slowed, and Elias stepped out onto the balcony, looking down over those dancing below. Jon was led slowly behind him, his eyes tied over with a silk blindfold. Martin watched, still shrouded in mist, as Jon opened his mouth and spoke aloud.  
  
 _ **“Silence.”**_  
  
The room at once fell quiet as those that heard him found their ability to speak completely under control of the Beholding power. The Eye that they served gave Jon power to control what is said, not just what is heard.   
  
Elias removed the blindfold, and the party was presented with the deep, piercing glow of Jon’s stare. His eyes, originally dark, were now an unnatural green. It was in equal measure a show of beauty and of power.  
  
All at once, every sighted person in the room was given a vivid flash of memory they did not have before. They seemed all to be able to recall being small in a busy foreign square; and as anticipation and anxiety filled each member of the captive audience, they could remember the view of the night sky. Shortly following, they could remember a sound like cannonfire, louder than many of them have ever had memory to compare to, and sudden, piercing fear. Then, to the shock and delight of every one of them, colour broke out amongst the night sky, giving off light with a painful brightness and pairing their terror with an equally stirring awe. This was Jon’s power. To behold sights, knowledge regardless of where they might have originally been possessed.  
  
Martin was struck by how beautiful it all was, and how outclassed his powers must seem in contrast. However, before the memory faded, he noticed an inconsequential detail. Jon was displaying to them the memory of a child.   
  
Then all at once it was gone, as if it had all happened long ago. Martin’s fascination was drained out with it, and he was brought back to the memory of Jon’s terrible disposition. He decided not to devote him any more thought, and returned to his conversation.  
  
  
It was altogether a good evening for Martin and Melanie. Peter would be pleased to know that Melanie has found the interest from the House of End, which meant for a very promising future for their families. Martin could sense that Melanie’s usual fire had faded into a warm, charmed glow. They therefore returned in good spirits despite Jon’s best efforts.   
  
Melanie was the one to tell Peter of their successes. She did not leave out Jon’s shocking rudeness.   
  
“Martin loses nothing by being unsuitable for the Magnus man,” she insisted. “He is a cranky, horrible little man and not at all worth trying to please. You should have seen his face, looking at us all like he was somehow our better. I wish I could have given him a piece of my mind, or better, had you vanish him. Not attractive enough to dance with, my arse!”  
  
Peter didn’t have the energy to scold her for swearing.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Martin made Melanie a cup of tea before asking her to spill her feelings on meeting with the brave and important ghost master, Georgina Banks. She and her brother Oliver were famous for their fanciful excursions across the continent, searching and capturing those who should be dead. They tracked down ghosts around the countryside, with the help of Georgie’s apparently fantastical cat, and banished them to the realm of the End, where they belonged. In return, they seemed to have some kind of leverage over death, and occasionally were able to negotiate with it. The House of End was a force to be reckoned with.   
  
“You won’t believe me. She is so perfect, Martin. She told me all of these wonderful stories while we were dancing, and she was good-humored and lively and beautiful. I have never met anyone who made me laugh like she does.”  
  
“She is also kind,” added Martin, “Which really I think someone ought to be, if they can.”   
  
“It was flattering to get asked to dance a second time. Miss Banks really knows how to imply a compliment, even if she shocks the whole room with it. After all, she has some power afforded her by her House, and I have none.”   
  
“It wasn’t all that surprising to me, Melanie. It’s natural that she asked you again, you were the most beautiful and important person in the room. It doesn't take chivalry to want that. I like her for you.”  
  
“That would flatter me, if it wasn’t from yourself, brother. You’re incapable of speaking anything of people but sunshine, Martin. I, on the other hand, speak what I think,” she replied.   
  
“Oh, I know you do. If you’d like me to be candid, how about I address the terrifying character of Georgina’s elder brother? I have barely met him, but I hear his charm does not equal hers. I’m not sure I will like him.”  
  
“I imagine he’s pleasant enough if you can get close enough to speak with him. He will mostly travel, and only occasionally take her with, but I think I could make a tolerable neighbor out of him if need be.”   
  
Martin considered this in silence. He was both more nervous and more optimistic than Melanie, and really tried to see the best in people, however difficult it might be to approach them. Because of this, he didn’t have any reason to dislike Oliver, having only spoken to him in passing. He was a powerful man, more than Martin himself, and they would probably need to get along in the future. Outside of this, he was a rather handsome man, however unattached and cold he tended to come off as. He had the benefit of international education, and a fair amount of money, but Martin knew that some of his excursions were not for his power, but for something much closer to loneliness. He paid exuberant amounts to be sailed into the depths of the sea for weeks at a time. That was not part of being a ghost hunter, as far as Martin understood it. It was to escape creatures of all kinds. Oliver was a man of the dead, and had some entitlement to resent the living.   
  
  
Miss Banks inherited her father’s large fortune and dying intention to establish an estate, but did not align with his wishes. It suited her and her brother just as well to be unrooted and to embrace the generosity of her friend in the Beholding House, should the need for a room arise. It was unknown if she would remain the rest of her days at the Leitner Residence, utilizing the archives for her ritual purposes and disappearing for months at a time. It may be up to her children to purchase a house for the Banks family.   
  
Oliver was more interested in establishing a property for the House of End, but now that he and his sister were considered the ward of the House of Beholding, he was not unwilling to uphold his obligation to Elias as part of his travels.  
  
Between Georgie and Jon there was a close friendship despite their starkly contrasted personalities. Georgie’s patience and easiness, her good humor and steadfast nature allowed Jon to trust her, although his character was so very different from her own. Georgie, on the other hand, was initially drawn to Jon’s sharp wit, and she trusted his knowledge, if not his judgement. In terms of intelligence and understanding, there was none better than Jonathan. Georgie was not a fool, but Jon was clever. However, he was rash, crass and obsessive, and while he was raised to be polite, there was little about him that was approachable. Georgie’s fame came from her being well liked wherever she went, and Jon’s came from being offensive.   
  
This was demonstrated in how they discussed the events of the ball. Georgie had loved the opportunity to sit in such luxury and pleasant company; everyone wanted to hear her jokes and stories, and gave her the warmest welcome; and she had found Miss Lukas to be the most enchanting angel imaginable. On the contrary, Jon had met an uncomfortable crowd of people who had no beauty or talent, for whom he felt no interest, and had received no pleasure or attention. The Lukas girl seemed strong and a little interesting, but there was anger in her that he would rather avoid.   
  
Oliver allowed Melanie to approach his sister, deciding that she was a strong and clever girl, one he wouldn’t mind having to know. She was thus decided to be a worthwhile girl, and Georgie knew she would be supported in admiring her. 

* * *

  
  
Oliver’s business with the Lukas family did grow more pleasant. He still used their services for travel and his personal escapes, but he addressed Peter with growing pleasantry and respect. Martin was convinced that there was something superficial in this change; though his kindness was certainly because of his sister’s developing relationship. It was obvious to all that could notice whenever Georgie and Melanie met, the two admired each other, and were yielding to the preference that was established in their first dance. Melanie was very much in love, but had many reservations on revealing this to the world, as she was known to not show much in the way of softness behind her unyielding temperament. Martin mentioned this to Helen.   
  
“You might allow others to relay her feelings to Georgina, if you like,” Helen offered, “but it may be a disadvantage to remain so guarded. If a woman concealed her affection from the world as much as she does it’s object, she may lose it all. Many people feel love, you see, but it’s not like anyone, even a Lukas, to truly be in love without encouragement. It’s better off if someone knows how you feel. Banks like your sister, undoubtedly; but it won’t ever be more than that if she is not given help.”  
  
“But she does let her feelings be known,” Martin objected, “Melanie is as serene and affectionate as her nature will allow. She must be an idiot to not see it.”  
  
“Most of the world does not know Melanie as you and I do.”  
  
“But if two people are partial to each other and see no reason to hide it, then it must be obvious.”  
  
“Perhaps. But have you considered that Miss Banks does not have that much time for her? She is not the sort to be free for conversation, and Melanie therefore must make the most of the time that Banks is not indisposed to study or her rituals. When they are married, there will be the luxury of time for falling in love.”   
  
“That would only work,” replied Martin, “if the objective was to find a marriage, not a lover or a good husband; and if I was determined to get one of any sort, then I would support it. Melanie has no objective, or even much knowledge to go on. They have known each other a fortnight, this is not enough to understand her soul.”   
  
Helen relented. “I wish Melanie success, and I believe that if they were to marry tomorrow it would result just as well as after a century of analysing her character. Happiness in marriages such as ours are first about family and then about happiness. It is better to not be in total understanding of the defect of the person you wish to devote your life to.”  
  
“That sounds sad, and not terribly sound. I don’t believe, Helen, you would do such a thing yourself.”  
  
Martin found himself overinvested in the attentions of Miss Banks on his sister, and thus was far from noticing that he was developing into the object of watching and interest in the eyes of her friend. Jonathan at first was not even allowed to completely see his appeal, as he had been so shrouded with loneliness at the ball; when they next met he had only glanced his direction to find further criticism. But as soon as he announced to his company and himself that there was no appeal to Martin at all, he began to notice the uncommonly angelic quality that it was given by his eyes. Martin’s eyes were likely originally coloured differently, but the Lonely’s touch was deep within them, and they shone now a whirl of sea-mist grey. It was the most mortifying realization Jon had the privilege to experience. It did not take the powers of the Eye to know that Martin was not shapely, that his face was not symmetrical, but he found himself unable to find his form anything other than warm and comforting; and despite how inadequate he understood Martin’s sociability to be, he was entranced by his gentleness. His only solace was his divining that Martin was entirely unaware -- to him, he was only the bitter little man that thought him not handsome enough to dance.   
  
He was desperate to know more about Martin, but once realizing that it was not polite to simply Know all he wished to see of him, he began to reach out though mutual acquaintance. His doing so was immediately apparent. He had chosen to attend a fair sized gathering at the house with the yellow door, hosted by Michael, the other head of House Distortion. Those in attendance included Sasha James, Georgie, the Lukas siblings, Jon himself and the residents of the house.  
  
“What game is Mr. Magnus playing?” Melanie whispered into Martin’s ear, “He’s been listening to your conversation with Michael.”   
  
“I think that is something only someone Beholding can answer.”  
  
“If he does it any more you should give him something new to think about. He’s got a deviant eye, and I think if you do not assert yourself he may believe he has made you afraid of him.”   
  
He approached them afterwards, but neglected to initiate conversation, and Melanie pushed past Martin’s discomfort in order to provoke him to speak on it, she turned to Jon and said --  
  
“Do you think I was too brazen in demanding Michael to host the next ball?”  
  
“Entirely too forward, as always; but I suspect it would interest someone like you.”   
  
“Like me? You are too harsh.”   
  
“It is our turn to be brazen,” Helen interrupted. “Miss James is here, and I am going to open the piano. You know what it is that follows.”   
  
She continued. “Your friend is a very strange one! She is always ready to perform and play, before everyone. I know it is part of her upbringing, as the House of Stranger once entertained audiences of impressive size, of course. If my life had a more musical direction, you would never be rid of me; but as it is I may only sing on occasion, as you have been already spoiled with the best.” Michael tried to modestly deline the option to sing, but Sasha and Helen had been insistent.   
  
Melanie gave a glare to Jon. “You’d best keep your breath to yourself, Michael and Sasha are devoted to their songs.”   
  
Michael’s singing was pleasing, but obviously not professional. It was the Distortion that accompanied it that was so beautiful. The lights from the windows and lanterns in the room bent unnaturally this way and that, putting on a show of flashing and roving. The room and the floor swayed and twisted as if it was dancing to his song.This was Michael’s tease, a taste of what he and Helen could do. Sasha, on the other hand, played with grace and dedication, suited for a career of grandeur, although it was obvious she was more used to the organ than piano. After a song or two, Michael retired, and the performance was entirely on Sasha, who thrived in it.   
  
Sasha came from the House of Stranger, which was once a family more successful than either the Lukas or Magnus estates. Their power asked them to act and sing, often in circuses, and in return they were allowed to assume the place of anyone they wished, in power or money, but it had all come to ruin before Sasha was born. Still, she had both genius and taste, and true to her nature and tradition, she was an accomplished musician, justifiably vain. She was plainer than most of her family, and had little money to speak of, and so worked hard for the compliment of her accomplishments. This party was for her sake, to remind the few other Houses that respected her that her title was open, just like Michael’s had been, even though their old grandeur was gone. Martin was prone to listen with more pleasure than play, and besides would not play half so well. Helen and Michael began to dance at the end of the room.   
  
Jon stood near them with simmering ire at the activity and the lack of conversation that he was looking for with it. He was much too deep in his thoughts to notice that Helen had sidled beside him until she began to speak - “Jonathan! Dancing is really so much fun. Being part of the distortion makes it a dizzy affair, but that is _the way of the whirled_. I consider it a requirement for those who are good company.”   
  
“Certainly, madam; and dancing is also known to terrible company. Plenty of monsters can dance.”  
  
Helen laughed so brightly it was painful. “Your Miss Banks performs a wonderful dance,” she continued after a pause, watching her join in; “And I don’t doubt that Elias has well-familiarized you with the art, Jon.”  
  
“You saw me dance at the ball, Helen.”   
  
“Yes, and it was not in the slightest bit fun. Did you dance back East?”   
  
“Never.”   
  
“Not good enough to grace with your abilities?”  
  
“I would grace nowhere if I had the choice.”   
  
“You still have a house in India, I suppose?”   
  
Jon nodded.   
  
“I have thought of traveling there myself, as I am fond of new things, but I feel that Michael would be out of his depths.”   
  
She clearly expected an answer, but Jon was in no mood to offer one, and in that instant Martin made his way over. Helen was struck with the idea of being a most helpful individual, and called out to him.   
  
“My dear Martin! Why don’t you dance? -- Jonathan, you must allow me to offer him as a partner. You have no reason to refuse, for I know him to be worthy and desirable.” She took her large hand in Martin’s and would have given it to Jon, who surprised himself in being almost eager to receive it, but Martin drew back, and with some clumsiness said:  
  
“Apologies, Helen, I don’t intend to dance. I beg you to not assume I came here for a partner.” Jon felt the icy chill of Martin’s power push him away, forcing him to divert his eyes to the traces of fog that formed at his feet. Even the ever-present urge to see all was being discouraged, and Jon was left desperate to look into his eyes, but unable to see him at all. He was frustrated, and impressed.   
  
Jon, with leaden gravity, implored to be graced with his hand, this time with a push of his own power of compulsion, but was still denied. Martin was for once standing his ground, and Helen, unaware of their battle of minds, did not shake him with her attempted sell.  
  
“But Martin, you are so handsome when you dance, that it would be unfair to deny me the pleasure of watching; and this man cannot object, despite his aversion to joy in all forms, if all I ask for is a dance.”   
  
“Yes, because Jon is nothing but polite,” said Martin, with a cold smile.   
  
“He is! And we must wonder at it -- who would object to such a wonderful partner?”   
  
Martin, who was already backing up, successfully stumbled away. His words did not hurt Jon’s feelings, and he was considering their conversation with some satisfaction when the stoic Oliver Banks bade his attention thus --   
  
“Shall I guess your musing, diviner? I know it.”  
  
“I believe not.”  
  
“You are tired, as I, of passing your precious time in evenings such as this -- in sociability. I myself am growing rather annoyed. The noise, the meaningless motion of it all, in their limited time before death. I would like to know your thoughts as you can see mine.”  
  
“You’re wrong, I’m afraid. I was thinking of something most pleasant. My reverie is at the pleasure that can be brought by only a pair of eyes, not the Beholding sort, but the kind that an attractive man may bestow.”   
  
Oliver’s cold eyes narrowed and he fixed his gaze onto Jon’s, desiring to know which man had the honor of inspiring this thought. Jon replied with a great deal of nerve --   
  
“Mister Martin Lukas.”  
  
“Lukas,” Oliver echoed. “Surprising. How long has this been so, and when should I offer my congratulations?”   
  
“How predictable. Everyone is quick to make the leap from attraction to love, and then marriage. I should expect you would congratulate me.”  
  
“No. I simply believe that you are serious, and that is enough to consider it done. Elias shall be quite put out by your father-in-law, of course.”  
  
He listened with indifference. Jon’s composure put Oliver at ease, and they fell into a tolerable silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always though Peter was too lonely to sleep with someone for long enough to get kids, but occasionally brought home a very lonely orphan he found on the sea. 
> 
> "the way of the whirled" was listed in a Victorian joke book, where I discovered that puns are timeless.


	3. A Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something goes wrong on Georgie's ghost hunt.

Melanie received a note from the Leitner property. Martin’s eyes lit up with curiosity and pleasure, and he called for her to describe it. 

“Who’s that from? What’s it on about?”

“It's from Mr. Banks,” said Melanie, and then allowed Martin to read it. 

“Dear Miss Lukas, -- It has come to my attention that you design yourself a ghost hunter, and wish to accompany my sister and I on our ritual travels. If you are not so determined to accompany us for it tonight I shall view it as a sign of cowardice and consider you no further. Your attendance is requested at the archives of Leitner Estate as soon as you have received this letter. The Magnus family is to host us dinner, and we shall ride. -- Your Obedient Servant, OLIVER BANKS”

“A ghost hunt? How exciting!” Martin congratulated. “You must tell me how it goes, if you choose to attend.” 

“A choice? I will not have Oliver view me as any coward. Peter, can I have the carriage?” 

“But you must take horseback, if only to ride out with them! Besides, it is easier to look dashing on a horse, for you. Take Frost,” said Martin. 

“Ah, yes. Then I must stay the night in Elias’s horrid company should it rain,” Melanie complained, but relented. 

The two of them extorted Peter’s fastest horse from him, a northern breed Martin called Frost. It was afternoon when Melanie was prepared and rode out, she would arrive just in time for nightfall. Martin was rather satisfied with this, as was Peter. Getting to attend a session with the undead was an honor from the Banks family, and this meant they were in good relation. Furthermore, the prospect had elated Melanie from the time she first heard of it, and her happiness meant much to Martin. 

“This will be good for us,” Peter insisted, more than once. He was satisfied with himself all night, and for most of the next morning, when Martin received a letter. 

“My dearest brother, -- I found the ghost adventure all very exciting, perhaps too much so, as I now suffer a significant wound: a gunshot to the leg. I am otherwise unharmed and want nothing. Elias and his kind will not hear of my returning until they are satisfied with my healing, and they have called Dr. Hopsworth to see me, so do not be alarmed at the news of my misfortune. I expect to require bed rest and a few weeks boredom at most. Expect a most wonderful story upon my return. Yours, Melanie.” 

“Elias,” said Peter as Martin finished reading aloud, “will be hearing from me if my daughter dies. I care not that this was her choice and under Oliver’s supervision. It would be on him to have seen this coming.” 

“Dying? I don’t think it could be that bad. Melanie will be well taken care of, I’m sure, and she is very strong. I just hope she shall be able to walk again, and that it is not any worse.” Martin said this but his anxiety was important. He was rather large to be riding ponies, and could not afford to take his father’s carriage, but he was determined to walk. 

“That is the opposite of lonely,” Peter growled. “You shall be seen by neighbors and travelers the whole way there.” 

“I will be seen by Melanie, which is what is important.” 

“Is this some kind of ploy to get use of the carriage?” 

“No, father. I can walk, it is only a few miles. I can use the shroud of fog, if you prefer. I can be back before the night falls.” 

He made his walk damp and alone, taking large strides over puddles and between trees, and with weary legs and dirty shoes, finding himself at last able to see the house now owned by Elias Magnus.

He was welcomed into the front hall by Elias’s servants, where all the house save Melanie were not subtly assembled. It seemed as though his appearance was rather unexpected. Elias found it inconceivable that someone would walk three miles first thing in the morning just to see one girl, and Martin was afraid that he may look down on him for it. He was polite, however, as was Oliver Banks; and in Georgie he found laughter and compassion. Jon said little, and Basira, nothing at all. Jon was torn between being fascinated by the exercise induced flush of Martin’s face and being concerned by his visit alone. Basira was occupied with breakfast. 

When Martin inquired about his sister, the answers were worrisome. She had bled out more than expected, was in sizable pain, and was unable to sleep. Elias and the doctor were able to help her hurt less, but no one had yet been able to remove the bullet. Martin was relieved when they took him to see his sister immediately, and Melanie was clearly delighted to see him. She was in no state to give much conversation, and when they were finally left together, all Melanie offered were weak reassurances and gratitude for Elias’s kindness. Martin attended her as best he could. 

Once Basira and Oliver were free they joined him, and Martin got to know them a little better. They obviously showed affection and care for Melanie, and that meant a lot to him, however cold his own reception was. There were several medicines to be administered to Melanie to prevent infection and pain and they were readily used; Melanie grew angry and then incoherent when her condition fell. Martin did not leave her side unless absolutely necessary, and had the company of Basira, who apparently had not much else to do. 

As the sun began to drop Martin realized he would need to leave, and reluctantly said so. When Oliver offered him the carriage he was willing to take it, but Melanie insisted that he stay with her, and so Oliver was instead obliged to offer him a room and to send someone for his clothes. Martin most graciously accepted. 

* * *

Martin was soon summoned to dinner. He was immediately submerged in pleasantries and the usual inquiries, to most of which he did not have a fitting answer. Melanie had seen no improvements, of course. Upon hearing his, Oliver repeated an empty apology, how much of a shock it must be, and then moved past the matter to his own injuries, and then later, nothing related at all; the indifference to Melanie when she was not around was enough to solidify Martin’s reservations about the man into a cold dislike. 

His sister was the only person at the table that Martin found himself developing respect for. Her concern for Melanie was apparent, and she treated him with such attention that he nearly forgot how much of an intrusion the others considered him. Otherwise, he seemed to merit no positive notice. Oliver became all too interested in Jon, and Basira was scarcely better, only speaking when he referred to her directly; as for Elias, he was  taking more interest in attempts to probe into Martin’s carefully fog-shrouded mind , and had nothing to say when he found  his looking to be of no use. 

As soon as he was done eating, he returned to Melanie’s side, and Oliver began to bemoan him as soon as he left the room. Martin’s manners were lacking by far, a mixture of shyness and incompetence; he could not carry conversation and was not tasteful or stylish at all.

Basira did not disgust in him as Oliver did, but contributed -- 

“At least I could recommend in him a determined walker, even in bad weather. He was rather windblown and dirty as he came in this morning, like a boy, or something wild.” 

Oliver took it as agreement still. “He did indeed! It seems so nonsensical to run around the countryside, getting his hair untidy and his trousers soaked in mud!” 

“You may be correct in your remembering,” said Georgie, “but I saw nothing of the sort. I thought he looked rather nice this morning. The mess must have escaped my notice.” 

“Jon, surely you did not miss it?” Oliver said. “Surely you don’t think a young man should keep such an appearance.”

“Likely not.” 

“What indifference to decorum, to waste his time in the mud as such. What would he mean by it?”

“It means an affection for his sister that is quite right,” said Georgie.

“I’m sure,” Oliver said in a low voice near a whisper, “that the sight has rather detracted your admiration of his eyes.” 

“No. Rather, they seemed brighter for it,” Jon replied. A drawn out silence followed this admission. 

Finally, Elias interjected. “I have plenty of regard for Melanie Lukas; she is very lovely and rather spirited, and I wish her the best. But she is still a Lukas, and that cannot mean well for her future. She will never be able to settle with such a connection to the Lonely.”

“There are Lukases that freely marry. She has an uncle with the Fairchilds.” 

“Yes, and they are surely hidden up in a mountain, somewhere, outside of view and society.”

“How characteristic,” Oliver added, and shared a harsh, hearty laugh with Elias. 

“If they filled every mountainside,” Georgie cried, “it would not make them one bit less worthy.”

“But it must alter their chances of happy marriage,” replied Jon. 

To this Elias responded with a proud, too-wide smile, and Oliver gave his hearty assent; Georgie gave no response. Elias and Oliver indulged further laughter at the expense of Lukases. 

In the image, if not spirit of kindness, however, they did attend to Melanie and sat with her until summoned away. She was in considerable pain, and Martin would not abandon her, not even once the evening grew very late, until he saw her released into the numbness of sleep. Then, he returned to the rest of the house, where he was immediately invited to join them in the drawing room. Elias offered to bet with him on cards, but he made weak excuses, and in vain looked for something to read. 

“Do you prefer reading to games?” Elias asked without looking for a response. “That is rather unusual.”

“Mister Martin Lukas,” Oliver said, “does not partake in games. He is a great reader and poet, and takes pleasure in little else.”

“I don’t believe that is correct or deserved,” cried Martin, “for I take pleasure in many things and am an amateur at poetry.” He didn’t have any other creative pursuits, and was not willing in any way to grant Oliver that knowledge. 

“In taking care of your sister I’m sure you find pleasure,” said Georgie, “and I hope to see the fruit of it.” 

Martin thanked her honestly, and then walked towards a table stacked with books. Georgie immediately offered to fetch him any literature he may like -- the Archive was most expansive, even if not all of its books were safe to read. “I wish I knew the collection with more familiarity for your benefit and my own use; but I am restless and will always have more than I ever look into.”

Martin assured her that what was present would be well enough.

Oliver leaned closer to Jon. “What a delightful collection your family must have, Jon, with so many books over the world.”

“It ought to be good,” Jon replied; “it is my family’s service to the Eye, and we have worked for generations.” 

“You are always looking for books, you must have contributed much yourself.”

“I would detest the neglect of a library.”

“Indeed, no expense neglected. Georgie, we really must consider a property collection such as theirs. I hear it is more palace than library.” 

“If they ever intend to sell, we can buy it.” 

“That will never be possible.”

“Yes, but it is more likely than our obtaining an imitation.”

Martin devoted little attention to his book, more interested in observing the happenings in the room. Eventually, he sat it aside to observe the family and their game. 

“Basira has grown since the spring,” said Georgie to the room. “Do you think she will be taller than Jon is?”

“I think she will. She is now about your height, perhaps taller,” Jon replied.

“She has such manners, and so many accomplishments for her age. Her command of language and art is beyond impressive. Of course, it is inspiring how accomplished most young ladies are. I have heard of few ladies without also hearing their accomplishments.” 

Jon dismissed this. “Your idea of accomplishments too often applies to a woman who deserves it for no reason than the ability to play calliope, or net a purse. I am far from agreeing, Georgie. I cannot say I have met more than a dozen accomplished women or men, although Basira and yourself are in that number.” 

“Then,” observed Martin, “you must have a high expectation for your idea of someone accomplished.”

“Yes,” Jon agreed.

“Ah, certainly,” Martin replied. “Someone must know not only music and dancing but politics and modern languages, personal defence, horse riding, business, and of course the supernatural to be called half accomplished.”

“All this,” added Jon, “and to it they must add something substantial in the pursuit of more knowledge and mental acuity through extensive reading.”

“Ah, of course. I am no longer surprised at your knowing so few accomplished people. By that definition, it is surprising you know any at all,” Martin replied. Georgie failed to stifle her laughter.

“Are you so severe as to doubt it?” Oliver asked. “I have never seen such capacity and taste with application and elegance as you describe in a single person.” 

At this, some in the room called offence at the implied doubt, until Elias called for order and for everyone to return to the game. Without the pleasure of the conversation, Martin again left. 

“Martin Lukas,” Oliver commented, once he had gone, “must be the type to compliment himself by undervaluing others; and with some partners it might succeed. Paltry manipulation, but one well suited for someone who is not capable of friends. A very mean take on the art.”

“Without doubt,” replied Jon, the object of this remark, “all arts deployed to captivate others are mean. It is a sense of cunning that is inherently despicable. Just think of the spider.” 

Oliver was not satisfied with this reply, and did not continue the subject. 

Martin rushed back to them, only to say that his sister was worse and that she needed company immediately. Georgie urged them to contact Dr. Hopsworth, while Oliver doubted his country practice and recommended someone be sent to town for a more famous physician. Melanie, when she was well enough to speak would not hear of either and only related to seeing a doctor in the morning. She insisted she was not as delicate as it seemed. Georgie seemed quite uncomfortable with this; Jon and Oliver looked downright miserable. They did their best to solace themselves with the most that they could offer, with every possible attention from themselves and the staff directed for the comfort of the injured woman and her brother. 

* * *

Martin spent most of the night in his sister’s room, and in the morning was thankfully able to give a hopeful answer to the early-morning inquiries from Georgie, and some time afterwards from a man who must have been sent from his uncles. Despite this, he still had a note sent to the Lukas estate, begging his father to visit Melanie and use his stronger judgement of her health. The note was quickly complied with. Mr. Peter Lukas, looking very displeased, reached the Leitner estate soon after breakfast. 

Had he found Melanie in any apparent danger, Peter would likely have been upset to the point of violence; but being satisfied on seeing she was not on death’s door, he merely wanted to spend no further time in such proximity to the Magnuses. He only chose to accept the offer of Melanie’s remaining at the estate when challanged by the doctor, who arrived at the same time he did, and with the reminder of the attention it would get from the Bankses. After sitting a while with Melanie, he was invited to attend with the others in the breakfast parlor. Georgie met them, hoping that Peter was not put off worse by Melanie’s condition.

“Indeed,” Peter replied, “she is still too fragile to be moved. Dr. Hopsworth says we must not think of it. I’m afraid we must trespass on your goodwill a while longer.” 

“I would not think of having her removed!” Georgie cried. “My brother surely wouldn't hear of it.”

“You may depend upon it, sir,” Oliver said in his empty manners, “that she shall come to no harm, and be seen to as she needs while she remains here.” 

Peter was sincere and profuse in his acknowledgements. 

“I am sure,” he added, “if it were not for the two of you I do not think she would have survived such an attack. I sense upon her monstrous forces and she is suffering a great deal, though with the greatest courage in the world, which is always the way with her. I do believe Martin’s mental strength is nothing over hers, despite his powers. It is good here, and I hope that the two of you do not make haste to leave again.” 

“When I must go I must go in a hurry,” Georgie replied, “and when I do so again it shall be off in no more than five minutes. At present, however, nothing calls me away from here. I would not be able to leave if asked.”

“Oh… Yes. I should have supposed that of you,” said Martin, his face flushed. 

“You know what I imply?” she asked, turning to him in surprise. 

“Oh! Yes --- I think I do.” 

“I have spent altogether too much time with Jon; to be seen through so easily is pitiful.”

The silence that followed was sure to be painful. Martin, for the sake of getting the direction to change in his father’s thoughts, asked about Sasha, and if she had come by since he left. 

“Ah, yes. She called yesterday with Helen. What an agreeable creature is Helen, is she not-- Georgie? Such a lady of fashion and gentry. She always has an effort to contribute to somebody. That House Distortion is good company; and those who fancy themselves important but not make themselves of use quite mistake the matter.”

“Did Sasha stay?” Martin asked.

“No, she returned home. I believe she wanted to help back at the house with the yellow door. I have raised my children and named them my family, for my part, but she is not legal blood to Helen the way Martin is to me. But, everyone is to judge for themselves, and Sasha is a lovely girl, I assure you. It is a pity she has no power! Not that it should make her valueless -- she is a dear friend.” 

“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” said Georgie.

“Oh! Dear, yes; -- but she has no gifts from the Stranger except her strength of personality. Truly, that is all you need, sometimes. Look at Melanie -- one can not find so much talent and tenacity in one girl. That is what they say, at least, I do not trust my own partiality. When she was a child of 15, there was a man who was so much impressed with her, I thought he would ask my leave to take her away. Luckily for him of course, he did not. He did write some poetry with her as muse, however, and it was surprisingly beautiful.”

  
“And so must have ended his affection,” said Jon. “And I am sure it has been overcome in such a way before. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love.”

“I used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Martin.

“Of a steady, healthy love, perhaps. Everything strengthens that which is strong already. But if it is only a slight, mild inclination then surely a sonnet would chase it away entirely.”

The following silence made Martin fidget, lest Peter start another disagreement. He should speak, but had nothing more to say; and after a short pause Peter began to repeat his thanks to Oliver and Georgie for their kindness to Melanie, and an apology for Martin’s intrusion. Georgie was unaffectedly friendly in her answer, and forced her brother to be civil as well. He performed his part without any sincerity, but Peter was satisfied and left as soon as he was allowed. It was as he prepared his departure that Basira came to address him with Jon, Martin, and Oliver in tow. 

Basira was a steady, cool and confident young-but-well-raised woman. The attention she received due to her intelligence and her precise manners had only increased her assurance. So, it was as an equal that she addressed Peter Lukas on the subject of hosting his own ball, adding that it would not be becoming for the House Lonely to neglect its heir a showing after such powers such as her own and even the House Stranger managed their showcase. It must be shameful for Martin, she supposed. His answer to this sudden attack was shocking to Martin -- 

“I shall be perfectly inclined to host my own occasion; and when my daughter is recovered, you are welcome yourself to name the date of the ball. But I have no wish for dancing while she is unable.”

“Yes-- it would be better to wait till she is well. This way, also, I can invite Colonel Montauk and the brigade, as it will give her time to return from America. And when you have given your ball, I shall insist on her father giving one also. It would be a shame if he did not.” 

Peter had by then departed in his cloud of mist, and Martin returned instantly to Melanie’s side, leaving his father’s behavior to the remarks of Oliver, Basira, and Jon; the latter of whom was not persuaded in their insult of him, in spite of Oliver’s witticisms on grey eyes. 

* * *

The day passed much as the day before had. Basira and Oliver spent some hours of the morning with Melanie, who continued, slowly, to mend; and in the evening Martin joined their part in the drawing-room. Jon was there, writing, and Oliver sat near him, watching the becoming of his letter and distracting him repeatedly. Elias and Georgie were playing at piquet, and Basira was observing the game. 

Martin took up whittling a small whale in his lap, and amused in attending to what passed between Jon and his companion. The perpetual small compliments of Oliver on Jon’s handwriting, the grace of his lines, or the length of his letter, formed an odd conversation where his praises were received without concern. It matched Martin’s understanding of each man.

Oliver preened. “How delighted someone must be to receive such a letter!” 

Jon said nothing.

“You write with such speed,” continued Oliver.

“You are mistaken. I compose slowly.” came Jon’s reply.

“How many letters you must write in the course of the year. Letters of accademia, too. How odious.” 

“Good thing they fall to my lot, instead of yours.” 

A while later: “I’m afraid you do not like your pen. I could mend it for you; I mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you -- but I always mend my own.” 

“Do you always write such charmingly long letters, Jon?” 

“They are generally long; but whether they are charming is not something I care to determine.”

“I don’t believe a person who can write a long letter with ease can write ill.”

“That is not a compliment to Jon,” Oliver’s sister laughed. “Because he does not write with ease. He studies too much to write anything in neat, simple terms; do you not, Jon?”

“I have a particular style of writing,” he replied.

“Georgie writes in the most careless way. She blots out half her words,” sneered Oliver. 

“My ideas are swift, that I have not time to express them -- if this means my letters do not convey my ideas to my correspondents, so be it,” Georgie countered.

“Your humility is impenetrable,” commented Martin earnestly. He did not look up from his woodwork.

“Nothing is a worse lie,” said Jon, “than the appearance of humility. It is either a sign of negligence in opinion, or sly boast.” 

“And what would you call me?” Georgie asked, bemused.

“The boaster; for you are proud of your impatience in writing, you consider it evidence of your rapid thinking, which you think esteemed. Your swiftness is prized in your profession, and you prize it without attention to the imperfection of your actions. Your conduct would be quite dependent on chance as that of anyone I know; and if a friend were to tell you not to go as you mount your horse, you would just as likely remain -- and at another word choose to stay a month.”

“What you are saying is doing Georgie more justice than she did to her own disposition,” remarked Martin. 

“I am gratified you have converted my friend’s words into a compliment on the leniency of my temper,” said Georgie, “But I am afraid I know too well what he did intend. He would rather, in that circumstance, that I give a stern denial and ride off on the wind.”

“Would he ask you to be obstinate and paranoid, rather than rash?”

“I cannot say-- he must answer himself.” 

“I can’t account for opinions you assign me, Martin. Do recall that in this scenario the friend would offer no reason to stay, delaying his plan, only voice desire for Georgie to do so,” said Jon.

“To trust the persuasion of a friend is not a merit with you?” Martin asked. 

“To yield without conviction is not compliment to the wisdom of either,” grumbled Jon.

“You appear to me, Jon, to trust nothing in the influence of friendship and affection. Indeed, my father and you must get along well. For the sake of a general case, where one friend is desired by the other to change a decision of no real import, would you think ill of someone who compiles without argument? Does that not sound like an unworthy suspicion?”

“Before we proceed on this subject, would it not be better to agree more particularly the degree of importance of the request and the intimacy of the referenced parties?”

“By all means,” cried Georgie, “let’s hear every detail then, not forgetting comparative height and size, an advantage you do not know you have, Martin. I assure you that if Jon were a great tall fellow in comparison to those around him, he would be paid twice the deference. I declare I do not know a more awful companion than Jon when he is like this; especially at his own house when he has nothing to do.” 

Jon gave a low chuckle; but Martin could see beyond his flush he was offended, and therefore stifled his own laugh. Oliver loudly resented the indignity Jon was receiving and his sister for speaking such nonsense. 

“Of course, Georgie,” said Jon. “You hate an argument, and are playing at us to stop.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps you argue like a couple disputes. If you and Martin will defer until I am out of the room, I shall be thankful; and then you may say what you like.” 

“I would be at no loss to do that,” said Martin, gratefully, “and Jon has a letter to complete.”

Jon took his advice and finished his letter.

Martin could not stop himself from feeling as though Jon’s eyes were fixed on him, despite his attention seemingly fixed on his writing. He thought it must be an effect of his power, because there was no way he could think to be the object of his admiration; and yet it would be very strange should that look come from a place of dislike. He could only imagine that whatever he was doing to draw so much notice was something about him that Jon thought was more wrong and reprehensible than anyone else in the room. What offence he made was beyond him, as he was doing little more than sitting and carving. Still, the thought hurt him, even if he did not care for his approbation. 

After their business was conducted, Basira took to the pianoforte at Mr. Magnus’s request for the indulgence of some music. Her playing was as practiced as Sasha’s, even if her song carried a less lively feeling.

After playing some Italian songs, she varied the charm by a tune the likes of Martin had never heard before, but it was energetic; and soon after she had stated Jon drew near and said to him -- 

“Does not this music give you a great inclination to dance?” It was an invitation.

Martin froze, but made no answer. Jon repeated the question, surprised at his silence.

“O-Oh,” stammered Martin, “I heard you before, but I’m not sure what to say in reply. You would like me, I know, to say ‘Yes’, so you may find yet more reason to dislike me; I take no pleasure in indulging these schemes. Actually, I have made up my mind to tell you I do not wish to dance -- despise me if you dare.”

“Indeed, I do not dare. I do not intend...” Jon, so caught up in his perplexity, lost his words. 

Martin, having expected to affront him, was amazed at his lack of bite; he did not know that his own manner made it unlikely for him to affront anyone, or that Jon had never been so bewitched as he was by him.

Oliver suspected enough of this to be jealous; his desire to be rid of Martin now added to the reasons he wished Melanie to return home.

He tried to provoke Jon into disliking him by pretending that Martin and Jon were to be married, and talking of their projected happiness. “I hope,” said Oliver, as they took a walk in the garden the following day, “you shall give your father-in-law the idea that there is advantage to not being entirely absent; and if you can manage it, mend his hatred of Elias. --And, if I may add to it, endeavour to drink in the sight of your man while you can, as he will vanish like his father from within your view.”

“Have you any further advice on my domestic prospects?”Jon murmured in dismissive annoyance. He liked Georgie enough to not dare insult her brother, but was clearly not enjoying the conversation.

“Ah, yes. Do take Peter’s awful ship along with you on your scholarly adventures. It’s no different than taking one of the family yachts, except, of course, the comforts, and the fact you will be entirely blind. As for Martin, you must never have his portrait taken, for what painter could do justice to your favorite eyes?” 

“You are right, it would be impossible indeed to catch their expression, but the general shape and the fineness of his lashes might be copied.” 

It was then they walked past Basira and Martin himself. 

“I did not know you intended to walk,” said Oliver with some awkwardness, lest he had been overheard. 

“It is rather inconvenient,” answered Basira, “when you run about without telling us.” She then stepped over to take the arm of her brother, leaving Martin to stand by himself. 

The path was not large enough for the four to walk through. Jon noticed this and began to call attention to it, -- 

“The walk is not wide enough. We had better…”

But Martin, who had no inclination to continue with them, answered first. “No, no; I had better not bother you. You are a charming group, and it would spoil your walk to admit a fourth.”

He then drifted off, literally, as he felt his legs grow weaker, and fade into smoke. He wandered like this before returning to the estate, and hoped to leave this place in a day or two. Miraculously, Melanie was already recovered enough that she intended to leave her room, with assistance of crutches, for a few hours that evening. It was suspicious enough a miracle that Martin was afraid Elias may have done something nefarious to her benefit.

  
  
  


As Melanie recovered enough to stand with a cane, Martin wrote home to beg that a carriage might be sent--but Peter had already sailed on a business trip, and would be gone for another week. In interest in not keeping such overwhelming company any longer than necessary, Martin asked, nervously, to borrow Elias’s. The request did excite many voiced concerns, and Melanie was repeatedly asked to remain, that it would not be safe; but Melanie had not once in her life changed her resolve. 

To Jon it was welcome news. Martin had been around him too long. He stirred feelings in Jon he was not sure he liked, and on top of this Oliver was awful to Martin, and gave more attention than usual to Jon. He had already resolved to let no sign of affection escape him. If this was to be the last day of his visit, he needed to crush any hint of his feelings he might have made previously. Steady to this purpose, he spoke perhaps ten words to him though the whole rest of the day, adhered to his books, and refused to so much as look at him.

By this time, Basira’s respect for both Martin and Melanie had grown rather considerably; when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it was to see her and embracing her, she offered a friendly handshake to the former. Martin took their leave in the best of spirits. 

There was no warm welcome at the Lukas Estate. Servants of the house were taught very well to keep their distance, and without Peter there was indeed very little interaction at home besides that of the siblings themselves. Peter’s brothers, however, slyly expressed their pleasure; they had felt the house lose much of its animation throughout the days by the absence of Martin and Melanie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest Jonathon, you simply fail to be heterosexual.


	4. A Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mister Stoker comes to the Lukas Estate.  
> Meanwhile, Peter has a party to host.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be Martin/Tim and Jon/Martin in this chapter!

“I hope, Martin,” said Peter, after his return. “That you have been keeping The Lonely happy and fed, for today we shall expect an addition to our party by dinner, and it would be rather impolite to have them eaten.” 

“What do you mean? There aren’t many people who would be coming, unless Sasha should happen to call -- and I hope that my powers have long since adjusted to meeting her. She’s been around often enough.”

“The person I speak of is a gentleman, and a stranger.” 

“Who, Oliver? I don’t think that we have any food that would be up to his standards… ought I ring the bell and speak to the servants at once?

“It’s not Oliver,” said Peter. “It is not anyone I have seen in my entire life.” 

This roused Melanie’s interest; and he had the displeasure of being eagerly questioned by both his children at once. After entertaining himself with misdirecting their curiosity, he thus explained --

“About a month ago I received this letter; and I answered the moment I arrived home, for I thought it a case requiring early attention. It is from your cousin, Mr. Stoker, who may take over the company when I am dead, and cut you off as soon as he pleases.” 

“Oh! Do not talk of that odious man. It is a most iniquitous affair, and nothing can clean him of the guilt of inheriting Solus shipping company. It is your life’s work, and your father’s! By all rights it should go to me,” Melanie cried.

“Perhaps if you were to read his letter, you may be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself. Besides, you know the laws.”

“No, I am sure I shall not. I hate such false friends. Why does he not keep quarrelling with you, as his brother did before him?” 

“Why indeed,” Peter replied, and then read aloud: 

“DEAR SIR, -- In the interest of complete honesty, I shall tell you that I find the disagreement between yourself and my late brother to be foolish and unbecoming, and since I have now lost him, I should like to heal the breach. At the moment I have been very fortunate so as to be under the patronage of the Most Honorable Lady Annabel Cane de Lagorio of the House Web as publisher to her now deceased husband, the late Sir Neil Lagorio. The man did love to spin a story. Now that I am no longer of use to her ladyship, she has suggested I promote and establish peace amongst our family, and I am ever the ready to do so. On these grounds I flatter myself that my goodwill is commendable, and will lead you to accept my offered olive-branch. As to my being the means of my brother’s insult to your children, that ship has sailed, but I beg leave to apologise for it, as well as assure you of my readiness to make amends. If you should have no objection to receive me into your home, I propose you the satisfaction of waiting on me come Monday by four o’clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the following Saturday night.--

With compliments to yourself and your children, your well-wisher and friend, 

Timothy Stoker.”

“At four, therefore, we may expect this peacemaker gentleman,” said Peter, as he folded up the paper. “He seems to be a most intelligent and charismatic young man, and I have no doubt he will be valuable as company head. We must entertain him to secure your futures, although I do hope Lady Annabel will not ask him to come by often.” 

“There is some sense in what he says about us, however,” said Martin before Melanie had the chance to speak, “and if he is disposed to make any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him.” 

“It is difficult to believe what possible atonement he thinks our due,” Melanie replied. 

Martin was struck with Mr. Stoker’s humorous and yet somehow serious writing. “He must be an odd one,” said he, “There is something pompous in his style. And why apologize? I don’t think he would change it if he could. -- I’m not sure he’s a sensible man.”

“No, I think not,“ said Peter. “I have great hopes of finding him rather the reverse. There is honesty and self importance in his letter, which promises well.” 

Mr. Stoker was punctual to his time, and was received with reserved politeness by the whole family. Peter indeed said very little, but his brother was ready enough to talk, as were Martin and Melanie. Mr. Stoker seemed neither in need of encouragement nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, handsome young man. His air was very light and entertaining, though his manners could shift from casual to formal as he saw necessary. Martin liked him immediately. He had not been long seated before he complimented Peter on having found so fine a family; he had heard of how handsome the two were, but clearly the caliber of their personalities were neglected; and he did not doubt that there would be a fast pursuit of both of them in marriage. He said this in such a gallant way that Martin forced himself to pale to hide his flush, and Melanie, with no such power, burst out laughing. Peter, who took a dislike to most compliments, still answered readily --

“You are very kind, sir, and I wish with all my heart it may happen so, or they may be left destitute enough.”

Tim’s relation to Peter was exceedingly distant. At the work of his brother Evan and their late father, an agreement was drawn to bequeath the financial aspect of the Lukas family through a convoluted and distant design, by some bloodline law that Peter scarcely understood; a ploy to spite Peter for choosing his children from circumstance abroad rather than marrying and having his own. As Melanie and Martin were both Peter’s chosen wards, they did not meet the qualification.

“Ah! You allude to the entail of the company. I promise you, sir, that upon my honor I would never let such a lovely man or fiery woman be neglected so. ” 

“Ah! Sir, I do indeed. I do mean to find no fault with you, for there is no knowing how these things go.” 

“I am very sensitive, sir, to the situation of your children, and could say much on the subject, but I think it is rather poor for conversation. At present, I would prefer to become better acquainted with them, and yourself! It has so far been a pleasure, Mr. Springtime and Miss Melanie Lukas!” 

“My name is Martin.” 

“Why yes, but your father is a sailor, and I do believe that makes you a sea-son!”

He chatted with them all the way through to dinner; and Melanie and Martin smiled on eachother. He insisted that, as his equals, the siblings call him Tim, and told all manner of amusing jokes and anecdotes. They were not the only objects of his attention. The company, ships and all their workings were examined and praised; it would have touched Peter’s heart were it not for the supposition of his viewing it all as his future property. The dinner in turn was highly admired, and asked if Martin or Melanie had a hand in its cooking, earning him further dislike from Peter, who assured him that they were not so poorly off so as not to be able to afford a good cook. After Peter declared that he was in no way offended, he took no further notice, and was all wonderful, handsome smiles and conversation for the following hour.

* * *

  
  


Mr. Tim Stoker was not a sensible man, but his lack of wisdom was somewhat rectified by his great education and understanding of society; the greatest part of his life he had spent with his brother, who was an adventurous, competitive, and forward thinking man. He himself belonged to one of the local universities, and where he had formed many skills and acquaintances. Despite his initial humility of manner, he was a self-confident and strong hearted man, one that strode forth to work for what he thought he might want. A fortunate chance had brought him to Lady Anabelle de Lagorio, and he seized her patronage with both hands and great responsibility. The mixture of his confidence and intelligence as a publisher, his respect for his patroness and his late brother culminated into a strange mixture of pride and determination, with the frequent switch between blasé and serious. 

Having an obligation now to his family as much as his patrons, with a certain upcoming inheritance, Tim intended to marry; and in seeking some kind of apology to the Lukas family he had hoped to match with Melanie, but while she was as beautiful as promised by the common report, they didn’t get on well at all. It had the added benefit of guaranteeing him a title as officially part of one of the Houses, something his brother had aimed to achieve. This was part of his plan of amends for inheriting the shipping company; and he thought it an excellent one, as he was as good a flirt as he was a publisher, and it would mean that he would not rob the Lukases the whole of their life work. 

His plan did not vary on seeing them. Melanie’s lovely face confirmed his views on her beauty, and he further established that she was competitive and driven, and understood a boat far more than he. He did need to make an alteration, however; for in speaking to her further he got the impression she was very much sour and uninterested, brushing off even his most winning efforts, when Martin clued him into her potential engagement to the wonderful Miss Banks. 

Tim had only to change his plan from Melanie to Martin -- and it was soon done. Martin was certainly equal to Melanie in looks, his with his plush lips, soft manner and oddly washed out but enticingly fluffy hair, and he was heir to the power of the Lonely. Tim would be getting much more than a title out of marrying him. 

He expressed this to Peter in subtler terms, and Peter treasured the hint, trusting that soon both his children would be married, and his ships were safe in his son’s hands. The man he could barely tolerate the day before was now slightly higher in his good graces, even if he still detested the idea of his companionship. If he truly hated Tim, it was no secret he could vanish the man after the wedding.

When Melanie expressed purpose in going a ways into town to meet with some of the soldiers, it registered as fairly strange, especially seeing as she had only regained the ability to walk at length again the day before. Martin insisted to go with her, and Tim was all but ordered to attend them by Peter, who was most anxious to be rid of him and have his house to himself; for Tim seemed to follow him and pretend to be engaged with a large book or folio, while actually speaking to Peter with little cessation. Tim, being in fact a better walker than reader, was extremely pleased to close his books and go.

It was more a mystery as to why Melanie went forth to a certain group of unknown officers and introduced herself with an aggressive confidence. The head of the party, whose name Martin did not catch, introduced to him his friend, an Officer Daisy Tonner, a young, muscled lady with a wild look in her eyes. She clearly had much in her favor, a good figure and an even address. She didn’t necessarily have a happy readiness of conversation that some officers did, but speaking to her was perfectly correct and unassuming, and the whole part was talking to each other very agreeable when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Jon and Georgie were there, riding down the street. On observing the Lukas siblings, the two came directly towards them, and Georgie began the usual civilities. She was the principal spokesman, and Melanie the principal object. She was apparently on his way to the Lukas property to inquire after her. Jon corroborated this with a nod, and was determined not to fix his gaze on Martin when he was suddenly accosted by the sight of the officer, and Martin, happening to see both of them as they looked at eachother, was astonished and confused. Both changed immediately, Daisy stiffening even further upright, and Jon growing bright red. After a few moments of staring, Daisy pulled down her hat, a gesture that Jon just glared at in response. What could that mean? Martin was not able to imagine it, but he desperately wanted to know. In another minute Georgie, somehow having missed all this, took leave and the two rode on. 

As they walked on, Martin mentioned to Tim and Melanie what he had seen pass between Jon and Daisy. Melanie made no move to defend either of them, but could no more explain such behaviour than her brother. Tim shrugged it off, and attempted a joke. 

“Maybe he once tried to woo her. Not really my choice of woman, but they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Or Beholding, as it were.” 

* * *

  
  


The day after, they received an invitation to dine in town with Mrs. Montague, the current head of the House Desolation. Her family, having burned down their estate on the night she was born, now rented out apartment flats in the city. Tim had once before met with her, and she was so charmed by his manners that she invited him and any guests he may entertain to see her whenever there was opportunity. Tim apparently had some talent in pyrotechnics, and this only further endeared him to her. Martin was then pleased to hear that Daisy had been invited as well, as part of their previous party, and that she was then waiting at the apartments. 

Tim was immediately at home in the apartment, and likened it to the parlour at the House Web, which would have been an insult had Mrs. Montague not been thoroughly familiarized with the good lady’s extravagant taste. 

In his tales of what his life with Lady Anabel was like, and what had been missed since he last had a chance to meet, Tim was happily busy in conversation until the others joined them. Mrs. Montague was a quiet and attentive listener, though her opinion was often devastatingly harsh on certain topics. Melanie, who seemed to be as restless as ever, felt this interval of waiting drew out much too long. When Martin met up with Daisy, and they walked into the room, he felt no small amount of friendly fondness towards her. Officers in general were a creditable, gentlemanlike group but Daisy had such graceful countenance, air and walk, and a strong loyal and moral sense that reminded him of an old, dutiful dog. 

She was clumsy in conversation, but said everything in dry certainty, and was happy enough to carry on with everyone in the room. However, when Tim gayly offered to play a hand at whist Daisy declined, and Martin was given ample opportunity to speak with her. He was hoping to hear what she probably would never disclose -- the history of her acquaintance with Jon. He did not dare mention him. 

His curiosity and worry were unexpectedly relieved when Daisy brought it up herself. She asked how far the Magnuses were staying from town, and later, how long they had meant to be there. 

“They’ve been here about a month, and they expect to remain permanently,” said Martin, and then added, unwilling to let the topic drop, “He is a man of large property and a greater power.”

“Yes.” replied Daisy; “his ability is certainly powerful. No one person knows that more than I, as I was the person hired to protect him.”

Martin could do nothing but stare at her in surprise.

“You may well be shocked, Martin, but I am only a few years younger than he, I am much stronger, and Elias had me well trained. We grew up together. Are you and Jonathan acquainted?”

“I... I, Yes, as much as I wish to be. I spent some time in his house, and I think he finds me disagreeable.” 

“I know far too much about him to be impartial, I cannot help you guess how he feels of you. I have no idea if outside his house he is well-admired as his father,” she spat. 

“He is not liked at all! Everybody is disgusted with his disdain and pride,” Martin tried to assure her.

“The world is often blinded by his intelligence and fortune, frightened by his manner and overall willing to accept what he chooses rather than what he really is like.” She answered bitterly

“I hope your plans will not be affected by his presence here.”

“Oh. No. I will change nothing for the likes of him, if he wishes to avoid seeing me, he can run. All I feel is a sense of disdain and most painful regrets at his being what he is. You see, Martin, Jonathan Magnus is not just a man with supernatural powers. A man can eat food, can bleed. No, he is not Elias’s son, but rather Elias’s monster. That’s why he really hired me, not out of kindness for a lost child, but as an extra protection for his pet. If he was with another child, it looked less unusual, and I was too young to know the difference.”

Martin found that he was much more interested, upon hearing this. He felt it was much too delicate to say anything, and tried to convey that he listened with his heart.

“When Jon was coming into his powers, the house got attacked often. Elias’s line of work makes enemies of all the weird things, and plenty of regular people. Ghosts are sometimes easier to handle than a man with a knife. Just as he was starting to come of age, someone actually hired the Hunt Brigade to go after us. Well, after him. I suppose he wasn’t yet good enough to see it coming. When I tried to defend him, I was pinned. I watched as a man took a sword to his throat, and should have sliced his head clean off.”

“That sounds horrible!” Martin cried. It sounded like a terrible thing to see, especially for a child.

“That’s the issue, see. No blood came from him. His head did not fall. It was as if he had no blood. If you were to ask, I would say he lackes even a heart. I should have watched him die, but all that happened was his fall, unconscious, to the ground. Elias stopped anyone from actually killing him, if it was even possible, but by then the secret was out. There was no chance of me staying with him after that. I was accepted into the brigade, by either talent or good fortune. It was only later that I learned that while Jon can eat, he sustains himself on worse things. He has power with secrets, of things I never told him even in confidence. He can make you feel helpless.” She shuddered. “He never forgave me for betraying him.”

“Good Heavens.” uttered Martin. “Why not say something? Surely the other families would want to know that there’s a creature among us.”

“Elias Magnus, well… He holds a sort of respect and control with me. I don’t want to sully his name. But the main cause of my hesitance is Jon himself. You underestimate the power that that young man holds. Tell me, how much of it has he shown you?”

“He can command you to speak, or not to speak. He can divine facts about people and… show people his memories. When it happened to me, it was quite pretty.” 

“He can enter your mind, know your intentions, and remain there, watching all that you do. When he calls forward the things you remember, he forces you to watch and relive them, over and over again as you sleep. That nightmare is what he eats for dinner. It fuels him. It’s not a beautiful power. I’m afraid of it.” 

Martin was for a moment lost in his own thought before replying, “To think… I wonder, what does he feel, without a heart? I thought he might hate me. Certainly, I disliked him, but there was no way I would have thought him anything more than a horrible man, driven by pride. But I do believe you, Daisy. No wonder he despises his fellow man, he is inhuman!”

“Oh, I believe pride has everything to do with the workings of Jonathan. Surely, it has brought him as close to a virtue as a monster can have. It leads him to be most gentle and brotherly to the only good thing to come near him, his sister. You may find him the most affectionate and attending brother, due to his pride in her.” 

“What of Basira, is she just as monstrous and unfeeling?”

“I don’t have any inclination to trust a Magnus, but Basira is a different kind entirely. When I traveled with her, she was most fond of me, and I devoted many hours to her entertainment. She eats, and bleeds, and breathes. She was a handsome girl, even when we were 16 and I believe her to be the more moral and level headed or the family. But she is still has an ego, like her brother and father.”

Martin missed her wistful look as he blurted out his next question. “But how can a monster be so close to the likes of dear Georgie? She is kindness and good-humor incarnate! Do you know of Georgie?”

“No, I do not.”

“She is a sweet-tempered, amiable and caring woman. There is no way she can know what Jon is.”

“Perhaps not; -- but Jon can make friends when he chooses. He does not lack the ability; he can be conversible if he thinks it’s worth it. His pride never deserts him, but with those he thinks worthy, he is liberal-minded, sincere and candid. Maybe even agreeable,” said Daisy bitterly. 

By this time the whist game was broken up, and the players gathered round. Tim took his place at Martin's side, so he asked about the game. It had not been great: Tim had lost every point, but assured Martin's concern that he had not lost much money.

“I know that when someone sits down to play, they are dancing with chance -- and happily I do not find five shillings any object,” Tim said cheerfully.

This caught Daisy’s attention, and in a whisper she asked Martin whether family was in the habit of spending much time with the House Web.

“Lady Anabel Cane de Lagorio,” he replied, “has supported Tim’s living after the passing of her husband, who he used to publish for. They have not known each other for long.” 

“You do know that Lady Anabel is relative to Sir Elias Magnus, making her consequently Jon’s aunt,” said Daisy.

“No indeed, I didn’t know! I knew nothing of her connection at all. Indeed, I scarcely heard of her before this week,” Martin exclaimed.

“She has some unknown intention with him, and may attempt to use him as power over his estate. She may have him marry off, you know.” 

This information made Martin feel bad for poor Oliver, whose vain attention meant nothing if that was the case. 

“Tim is very fond of the Lady, but I am not inclined to trust her,” said Martin. They continued to talk with mutual satisfaction until it was time to eat, when food quickly took priority over conversation. Here again, Tim brought with him such manners that recommended him to everybody. What he said, he said well, what he did, he did gracefully. When they left, Martin could scarcely think of anything other than the other man, his smiles and pleasant nature, or the intense, terrifying things that Daisy had told him. He could mention neither as Melanie, out of some upset, griped and hissed incessantly, apparently all too tired of being civil, and Tim himself rode on with them, so Martin could hardly wax poetic with him present. 

* * *

The next day, Martin related to Melanie what Daisy had told him. Melanie listened with astonishment and rage; she had no idea how Jon could be so unworthy of her precious Georgie; and yet she desperately seemed to need reason to hate Jon. The possibility of his being some kind of beast, of all things, was a little too far to be easily confirmed; but nothing could be done. 

“I daresay,” said she, “she has been deceived, in some way, I’m just not certain how. Perhaps there was some misinterpretation? I have full faith that Jon is nothing short of the worst person to be around, but his unfeeling nature is just that: a horrible personality.”

“Maybe Daisy has made a mistake? It seems so unlikely detailed a story. I don’t know what to think.”

“He’s fooled us all, that is the only thing to think,” Melanie insisted. She knew with sad certainty that if Jon was this much trouble, Georgie would suffer. 

They could say no more on the matter, as the siblings were summoned to the front of the house, where Georgie and Basira had come to call upon Peter to fulfill his word, and to ask him to hold the House Lonely ball on the following Tuesday. Melanie was cheered slightly to see her dear friends again and repeatedly asked what they had been doing since their separation. They paid little attention to Martin, but he did not hold it against them. They were soon called into Peter’s office, and by some power of bargaining and persuasion received a begrudging agreement. He gave his address and invitation himself, and even went so far as to personally write to other guests. Melanie pictured to herself an evening drinking and laughing with her friends and the attention of Georgie; and Martin… Martin thought of maybe dancing with Tim, and how nice it could be. He tried with great effort not to think of Jon, and what would probably be his most sour reaction. Sasha was, of course, invited, and expressed no disinclination indeed.

Martin planned to do the majority of his dancing with Sasha, who usually lacked an interested partner in these affairs and was welcome to the noble task of protecting Martin from looking neglected, but she did not get the chance this time, as Tim soon came to him and stepped in.

“I have no ghostly inclinations as to what you might like, Martin, but I must assure you that for your solicitation, if you should like, I will be keeping open a dance, at least the first two, for you especially. I’m sure they could also go to Melanie, but she might consider passing up the opportunity if given a good cause.” 

He apologized to Sasha for losing him as a partner, but she took the news with a smile. It had not occurred to him until Sasha said so, but Martin was struck by the fact that Tim’s show of interest probably suggested something more. Among all eligible people of age he was considered worthy of being the not only heir to his family’s power, but husband to the sole monetary inheritor. It was not long after that realization that Peter hinted at his agreement at such a marriage, to make a proper, long-term sacrifice out of Tim; but Martin refused to reply, as before any offer was made, any response would just make matters worse. He did not want to be the reason of a man’s lifetime suffering, either. 

As if trying to be most fitting for a House Lonely ball, the weather became a most rainy and fog-ridden state, and they were prevented from returning to town, despite Melanie’s pleas. No friends or officers, or even gossip could be sought, to Martin’s relief. The three spent their time improving their acquaintance with Tim, their games and their library. 

* * *

It wasn’t until Martin entered the drawing room at his own estate, suddenly being pulled off into a fog-filled corner by his father, that it occurred to him that this was an affair pulled together to demonstrate his own abilities, and so far he had nothing planned. He sputtered for a moment and searched for a helper, preferably Sasha or Tim, but Peter so fixed his gaze that he quickly had to relent to being dragged into the center of the room, invisible to all. His father, of course, was less than helpful, as Lukases are in general known for their ability to fade out of and not stand out into crowded rooms. 

“Couldn't I just take eligible dancers with me into the Lonely for a spin or two, just long enough to indulge a short conversation? Surely it would be enough to just show a few people my true power, and then perhaps fill the room with mist?”

Peter gave him his assurances that he would impress whoever’s attention they might need. He then continued, making sure Martin understood the gravity of his performance; which only drove Martin’s nerves to the point of being unbearable. Martian had dressed with more care, rehearsed and possibly fantasized for the sole idea of dancing with Tim, and was now feeling the brunt reality that this evening was not for his pleasure, but for him to please others. Still, he bowed to his father, drew himself so he was standing up straight, and called for the numb, familiar cold of his forsaken powers.

The Lonely answered. 

Martin pulled his power towards himself, and understood from his diligent practices that to all people in the room, he was now the only person there. He was in a room full of people that were completely alone with him. He greeted them with hesitant but honest pleasantries. His speech might have been considered beautiful, if he spoke with an easier air, but as it was he was very afraid his nerves were apparent to the room. 

“My honored guests, it is… it is with utmost pleasure that the Lukas family invites you to our home. The opportunity now falls upon me to demonstrate the power that has been blessed upon my father, and his father before him. The Lonely. It is a rather personal, isolated thing, and as such, you may not notice me among the crowd. Try your best, however, and you may just get a dance out of it.” He directed this at Tim, pulling at the fog so as to obscure it from the rest. “I implore you, now. Enjoy and dance.” 

It took a delicate balance of fog to approach his intended dance partner. It was with great enthusiasm that Mr. Stoker, with his easy, welcoming charm, took Martin into his arms. They had his promised first and second dance,and a third for good measure. Tim offered him the most wonderful and sincere of compliments, on his speech, his handsomeness, and his clever footing. It was a most wonderful escape to a simpler place.

All the while, a sharp pain began to grow at the edges of Martin’s mind. He could liken it to the burning of curiosity, or perhaps the weight of a secret on your tongue that you oughtn’t share. Once before he had been under the pressing power of Jon’s compulsion, its familiar, terrible question slowly working towards the forefront of his thought as painful buzzing moved through his body. 

> “ **Would you give me a dance?** ”

With a miserable focus, Martin fought the constant urge, attempting pleasant conversation all the while. It didn’t matter if Jon was issuing a command or questioning after his opinion, he would get no answers from Martin. 

Eventually, the vibrations grew too much, and Martin had to thank Tim, issuing the need to meet other dancers. So focused was he on keeping the intruding man from his mind, that he failed to notice the final words Tim was saying, or the loss in his eyes as he faded back into the crowd. 

He danced next with an officer, finding it much easier to maintain the dance when he was not implored to speak; but he was only reminded of Daisy, and after a graceful but silent interaction, detached himself to return to Sasha. 

When he found her the pinprick feeling had made him restless on his feet. He pulled her and himself as far from the scene as he could get away with, leaving behind scarcely a trail of smoke. The feeling deadened, if only by a small amount. 

Sasha tried to console him. “Perhaps you better answer, I daresay you might find him agreeable,” she offered, as she could not see the force with which Jon was asking.

“Heaven forbid! That would be greater misfortune -- To find a man agreeable as he continues to hate me!” Martin cried. 

“Oh, dear Martin. A rich, powerful and handsome man is using his powers not to force but to _request_ a dance from you, and you have the foolhardy notion to turn him down? How easy it must be to be a man of your position,” childed Sasha. “Us penniless ladies have no such grand notions. If you do not wish to cede to the man, tell him in person that you shall only dance with him if he will yield, and I guarantee you not only will he bend to your will, but he will become a new man out of love for you by the end of the night.” 

“But Sasha, Tim--” 

“He is a wonderful man, but do not let him undervalue you to a man ten times his consequence. Tim has no House, Martin, no history with powers,” she reminded him. “You know as well as I that if you were to marry, he would not survive. Tell you what, I will make you a bet on the consequences of this night. Lukases love to gamble, do they not? Offer to let him pull your true wishes from your lips, and you will have him in love by the end of the night. I’ll bet you three shillings.”

Martin considered her offer with serious gravity. Sasha, as one of his childhood friends, was someone whose judgement he trusted, and she was clearly dead set on convincing him to make a move that by all means should make the situation worse. The maddening question that Jon repeated slowly gained a stutter, out of what might have been effort, or desperation. 

“Okay.”

When he moved to face his miserable pursuer, Martin mustered every advantage he could think of. By this point he had left his selective isolation and was just partially visible to anyone who might glance in the room. Jon asked him the same question, this time aloud, and Martin relayed his terms. He would allow himself to be subject to Jon’s power for one question; it would also demand that Jon swallow his pride and admit he had been bested by Martin’s use of the Lonely. Martin had not been successfully compelled, he would just like very much for Jon to cease. 

Jon felt the room’s equal amazement to Martin materializing in wispy smoke to take place opposite him. He took Jon by so much surprise that when he emerged from his intense focus on Martin without his wits, without knowing what he did, accepted his terms. They stood for some time without speaking a word, Martin first in shock and then in confusion. Jon felt as though the whole ball might end before he regained his footing. From behind him Georgie could not help cautioning him with a whisper not to be a coward or a simpleton.

He brought himself to look the man in his enchanting grey eyes, and offered his yield with a bow, closing his eyes. The original question faded, and with it relief settled over both gentlemen. Between them, a beat of silence passed. 

> “ **If I asked, would you like to give me a dance?** ” Jon asked, his voice low. 

Both men expected immediately for there to be a denial, for all the pretense and posturing to amount to Jon’s disappointment, and Martin’s quiet frustration. 

“Yes,” Martin blurted, to the astonishment to all who knew them. If it were not for his absolute faith in his own abilities, Jon would think that Martin was lying, to exact some heinous scheme; as it was, he Knew that it was the truth. In him stirred something in his heart so powerful he thought it might barrel him over. 

Without the bite of his power, he asked to claim Martin's hand; he was a humiliated, desperate man. 

The dance began. 

They moved without speaking, Martin feeling it would be cruel to oblige Jon to speak as they first moved through the crowd, then through an empty and endless fog, then through the crowd again. He was diligent to keep up not only a layer of Loneliness in his mind, preventing Jon from seeing what he was thinking, but to make a grandiose show of it, worthy of his attention. Fog rose off of where they touched, swirled around their feet. Any audience that was lucky to find themselves glimpsing the men commented immediately on the tension and grace in their motions. Jon’s eyes were piercing green, which cut through to look into Martin’s. It was impossible to deny how attractive Jon was in the moment, with his flowing hair and sharp features so suited to his formal attire. Their glow swept across the room, gently muted by the mist, and they had the vague combined effect of a lighthouse in a storm. Peter had asked Martin to draw attention to his power, and this dance was certainly doing it. 

After a pause of some minutes Martin finally could not stand the tension any longer -- “Please, say something now, Jon. I might say something about the dance, but you ought to make some kind of remark on the room, or it shall be a rather awkward few dances.” 

Jon’s eyes brightened at the mention of a second dance, and he readily assured him that whatever Martin wished him to say should be said.

“Okay. That reply will do. I might observe that dancing in private is much more pleasant than in public, later. But it’s enough that we broke the silence.” 

“Do-- do you usually talk, by rule, when dancing?” Jon asked.

“Sometimes. I feel one must speak a little, you know. If you are silent for a quarter hour together you will still remain strangers, although I suppose conversation may be arranged to have the same effect.” 

“Are you consulting your own feelings, Martin, or are you trying to gratify mine?”

“Well,” replied Martin hesitantly, “both, I suppose, for I have seen there is something in common in us. You are pretty good at being unsocial, unless you expect to say something of some discovery or insight, so we both are standardly alone.”

“This does not resemble your own character, I am sure,” said Jon. “It’s likely near mine I cannot pretend to know. You think it is a faithful portrait.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

He did not answer, and they went again silent until the dance had ended. Jon recalled Martin’s words on speaking, and attempted again. Did he and his sister often walk into town? Martin answered in affirmative; and without thinking added, “We may travel more often, having just made a new acquaintance in Daisy Tonner.” 

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade flooded Jon’s features, but he said no words, and Martin, cursing his clumsiness, did not go on. At length, Jon again spoke, and in a strained voice said, “Miss Tonner is an impressive enough woman that she may ensure making friends -- whether or not she may be equally capable of keeping them.”

“You are unlucky to have lost her friendship,” replied Martin. “She believes you an unfeeling thing that has so ruined her life.”

Jon made quickly to change the subject. At that moment, Helen appeared through a door next to them, meaning to pass by, but upon seeing Jon, she stopped with a bow of courtesy and complemented Jon’s dancing, and his partner:

“I have been most highly gratified indeed, dear sir. Such superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident you have been trained by the best in the world, Jon. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner still outdoes you and I must hope to have this pleasurable show repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, involving your sister and Georgie shall take place. What congratulations there would be! I appeal to you, Jon -- but do not let me interrupt. You would not want me to detain you from the bewitching conversation of this young man, who’s bright eyes would certainly begin to find fault with me.”

The latter part of this statement was completely ignored by Jon; Helen’s mention to his friend seemed to hit him physically, and his eyes were suddenly directed to Georgie and Melanie, who were still dancing together. Recovering himself, he turned back to Martin and apologized. “Helen’s interruption has made me forget what we were saying.”

“I don’t think we were saying anything. I’m not very good at starting a proper conversation, and have failed twice already.”

“Well,” Jon said, and gave a fleeting smile, “What about books?”

“Oh! No. I am sure we are never to read the same, or not with the same feelings.” 

“I’m sorry you think so; but if that is the case, there is our subject. We may compare our opinions.”

“I would not be able to talk of books at my own ballroom; I’m busy with much else.” 

“Are you often too occupied by the present?”

“Well, often.” Martin barely thought of his response, as he was suddenly reminded of a conversation he had with another. “I remember, Jon, you said that you’d rather direct your life by evidence and reasoning than to plan your actions on trust. You must be very cautious with your feelings.”

“I am,” Jon answered, in a firm voice. He gingerly searched for the reason Martin might mention that, and was forcefully blocked. 

“And you never allow yourself to be blinded, to be overcome with confidence or prejudice?”

“I hope not. May I ask to what these questions tend?”

“I’m trying to understand who you are, Jon,” Martin said, trying to brighten his voice out of its gravity. “I’d like to figure you out.”

“And what is your success?”

Martin shook his head. “I am so unsure. I think I know you, but I have heard such a different account. You’re a mystery.”

“I have full belief,” Jon answered gravely, “that reports will vary with respect to me, but I wish, Martin, that you did not try to figure out my character right this minute, as I do not think what I am doing would work as evidence for either account.”

“I may never have another opportunity to know you, Jon.”

“And I would never suspend a pleasure of yours,” he replied, voice cold. They parted in frustration, though not to an equal amount, for Jon’s satisfaction of the dance was powerful enough to more than justify Martin’s pardon, and direct Jon’s anger elsewhere. 

When Melanie had her fill of dancing with Georgie, she was Martin’s next chosen partner. She smiled, and while Martin’s smile was soft, hers was sharp and knifelike. “I asked around,” said she, “about Daisy. But perhaps you were too pleasantly engaged for this?”

“No,” replied Martin. “I have not forgotten her; but there is nothing new to tell you. If Georgie has said nothing of his nature, Jon has spoken less. I’m beginning to believe Daisy may have been rather incorrect about Jon, and that her words may have much to do with her ties to Mr. Elias Magnus.”

“Well, Georgie does not know Daisy herself, nor the whole history, but she does vouch for the honor of Jon, and she is perfectly convinced that Daisy is part of some move against him. She did mention that Jon does not seem interested in finer life pleasures, but Oliver thinks much the same, and he is assuredly human. I myself shall think of both as suspect, although I admit I do not like Jon much, man or monster.”

Martin then changed the discourse to one more pleasant, and one where they more often agreed. Martin listened with delight to the hopes that Melanie entertained of joining Georgie on her adventures, and saw in his power to heighten her confidence in her relationship. Once he noticed Georgie was looking for Melanie, he withdrew to spend time with Sasha, who now owed him 3 shillings. They scarcely had time to discuss it before Tim approached. 

“I have found out,” said he, “that I am in the room with a near relation to my partoness! I happened to notice in a passing conversation he names his aunt Lady Anabel. What a coincidence. I think I may have time yet to pay my respects and attention, which I am aiming to do. My total ignorance of our connection deserves an apology, after all.”

“You’re going to introduce yourself to Mr. Magnus?”

“Why yes. I think we may get on well. I can at least speak to him about his aunt, he ought to be updated on her.”

Martin awkwardly tried to keep Tim from addressing Jon, already realizing that the man was more likely to take the sudden address as an impertinent gesture, rather than a compliment, and that if there was to be any notice of their connection made, it would be much less strange were it done by Jon. Tim assured Martin that he understood, but had confidence he could work past the initial rudeness of his lowly approach. He left off the implication that Tim clearly thought himself better in understanding how things worked in a high society, due to his education and personality. Martin was thankful his small social exposure was left unmentioned. With a sweeping gesture Tim took his hand, placed a subtle kiss upon it, and then left so quickly it was barely noticed. Martin watched as his friend prefaced his conversation to Jon with a graceful bow; while he had no powers to hear what was being said, his face burned as if he could hear it all, and could just barely make out Tim mouthing the words “Sincere”, “Web”, and “Lady”. It pained him to see him start something so destined to go poorly. Jon was eyeing him with unrestrained annoyance, and when at last Tim looked him in the eye and waited for him to speak, Martin watched Jon reply with an air of professionalism that was colder than any sea wind. Tim, not even the slightest discouraged from speaking, continued to smile and speak warmly, and Jon’s contempt seemed to grow exponentially with the length of the speech. At the end of it he made a too-slight bow, and hastily moved away. Tim returned to Martin.

“I have no reason, I assure you,” said he, “to believe that went any way other than well. He even paid me the compliment that I might be considered worthy of Lady Anabel’s favor, as he was so well convinced of her discernment. It must be a handsome thought.”

Martin didn’t have the heart to tell him that Jon had just implied the opposite of Tim’s worth. It didn’t seem fair to spoil his joviality. 

As Martin had little interest left in the ball itself, he spent a few more minutes in Tim’s friendly company, and turned back to face the room. He continued to dance, especially with the elder members of certain families, and beneficiaries that Peter had for some reason chosen to invite, but there was no real magical flourish involved. His attention turned to his sister and Georgie Banks; the joy and peace he saw in Melanie was enough to make him as happy as she was herself. He saw in her what a true partnership with a lover could bestow, all the strength and felicity in equal measure; and it was enough to have him endeavor to like Georgie’s posturing older brother. 

There was later, of course, singing, and they sat to watch as Basira, Sasha and then Helen entertained the company. Martin was relieved that he was not expected to sing, as he had a weaker and higher voice, which embarrassed him terribly. 

“If I,” said Tim, “was so fortunate that I could sing, I would find great pleasure in providing the room with air; music is a very passionate diversion, and must be very compatible with what is to become of my life, be it salesman or seaman. Of course until this point I have had no such time to devote to music, for there are very few free moments as publisher to my late patron. As such, I suppose I am a trebled man.” He directed this speech to Jon, and may have spoken just enough to be heard by anyone bothering to pay attention in the room. It drew stares, but also smiles, and none so amused Micheal, who observed in a laughing whisper to Sasha that Tim seemed like a most wonderful young man. Peter observed with salty distaste.

To Martin it was beginning to feel like those around him were working with purpose to bring about his personal misery, and was altogether not happy with having to continue to project himself, especially under the stare of Jon, which he still felt upon his neck. He wanted to have a nice night with his friends without the complication. He liked Tim, but he knew that to Peter nothing was as important as his show of force; and so he was pareded bitterly once again around the room.

As he passed by another man in an expensive suit who’s face he refused to remember, the itch of being watched strengthened. He could feel green eyes on him, hungrily leering. 

> **“Would you like to talk again? About… Tell me about your poetry?”**

Martin didn’t appreciate the mention of his pastimes, but the impulse to begin spilling his heart about his interest in emulating the words of Keats was nauseating. He clenched his jaw with equal anger and effort, and whispered to the room as he faded from it, knowing that despite the distance Jon could hear:

“No.”

  
  


* * *

The next day opened a new scene at the Lukas Estate. Tim had made up his mind after dancing with Martin. He had affections for the other man, and it was clear he was attracted at least a fraction in kind. He wrote his declaration overnight, having resolved to do it without any loss of time, and his welcome would soon run out. On finding Martin, who was helping his sister with her waistcoat, he addressed them in these words: “Might I ask for the honour of a private audience of your brother, dearest Melanie?” 

Before Martin had time for even a blush at this, Melanie marched up to the man, staring up at him with the ferocity of a hardened soldier. She held his gaze in silence, finally answering “Certainly. I am sure Martin will be thrilled -- our father can have no objection. Should you want of me, I will be in the hall leading to his study.” She gathered her things and hastened away in the same march, as Martin called out behind her --

“I-- I beg you will not leave. Melanie, I...”

She had already left. Martin could not oppose her judgement further, and finally considered that whatever Tim wanted should be faced as soon and as quietly as possible. He took a seat, trying to dispel his distress and displeasure. Tim would not deserve that. Martin forced himself to stay solid as Tim began.

“Believe me my most beloved, Martin, I know that you’re not supposed to end up with the like of me. If it were anyone else, that would be a fault, and yet it’s just added to the list of your perfections; that you indulge me thus. As soon as I laid eyes on you I knew I could take your companionship for the rest of my life. I will admit, my journey here was in the hopes of finding a wife among the Lukases, but I will with utmost joy take a husband. My brother wanted nothing more for us to have happiness, a fortune and a title; but this is more than that. I want to spend my life with you. I like you.”

Martin was thoroughly stunned, unable to interrupt him without keeping his focus on remaining in the room and not casting off into endless mist.

Tim continued. “I can think of no better ways to spend my time than speaking with you about all manner of things, of taking up yet another dance, of taking care of you as you no longer have to give up every piece of yourself. You deserve to be with someone you fancy, not someone who just happens to be what the families want from you. You deserve something for yourself. I’ll be a rich man, and you’ll be a powerful one. We could defy objection when we are married.” 

Martin felt all at once as if he might explode. It was absolutely necessary that he stop Tim now. 

“Wait,” Martin squeaked. He spoke again, this time with a softer tongue. “You forget I have made no answer. I cannot marry you Mr. Stoker. Please accept my thanks for the compliment, I do genuinely appreciate your proposal. It is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline you.” 

“Please tell me,” Tim pleaded, stepping forward to take his hand, “that you are denying me for the sake of your father and your status and that I am a man that you secretly mean to accept, as I continue to apply my favor. Tell me and I will not be discouraged, I will continue to lead you to the altar ere long.” 

“How dare you!” The unease that built inside Martin outpaced his patience. “Tim, not once in your grand speech did you mention if your feelings for me were love. This may be a convenient and attractive option for you and my family, but you don’t love me. Truly, you don’t. You would condone yourself to a life alone for a title. Being a Lukas isn’t easy, but you wouldn’t know that. How dare you decide for me, that because I want to dance with you, that I am ready to destroy your life!”

He watched the man’s face fall as he hastily stepped away. He mustered the strength to regain his composure. 

“You’re a very charming man, Tim. You’re funny and you’re sweet and you’re kind; verily, a wonderful friend. But marrying me comes with a price larger than I can ask you to pay. You have no powers, and I could not stay near you for long, or the Lonely would consume you. You could not have friends or parties, or wonderful little conversations. For a man such as you, it would be hell. I thank you again for the honor you have done me in your proposals, but I cannot marry on such terms. I will not have my choices made for me in this way, not by you, or my father or Jon --”

Martin immediately stopped himself at that, and his blood drained from his face. He hadn’t meant to bring Jon up, and it would open all new opportunities for misery. 

“Oh? What does the esteemed Mr. Magnus have to do with this?” Tim was close to him now, much too close. He held an expression Martin couldn’t quite place. “I see. There’s a real reason, isn’t there? It’s not that I don’t love you, because that shouldn’t really matter, should it? If that was the only problem we’d just make it work like everyone else in society. I know I had your attentions. What aren’t you telling me?” He sounded disappointed, but his words carried honest curiosity. 

“There is nothing! I don’t-- I don’t know. I don’t want to have to explain this all to you, Tim. You know I don’t like that.” Martin instinctively stepped back, and felt a fine mist touch the back of his arms and neck. “I’m just no longer willing to entertain this.” 

“It’s not my status, isn’t it? That I wasn’t born with a house?” Tim kept his gaze on Martin’s face, on his eyes. The horrible sensation of being watched was growing eerily familiar. “No, you of all people shouldn’t care about one’s birth or mother. Is it--?”

Martin attempted a reply, to tell Tim it was because he was trying to keep him from harm, but as he leaned further away, he realized Tim was gone. In his mortification, he had pulled away from the ordinary plane. 

Sighing heavily, he fell to his knees and endeavored to remain, until the cold had washed the whole affair away. 

By this time, from the doorway behind Tim, most carefully tucked out of sight, Melanie had backed away, and then took off running. Upon her entrance to Peter’s study, he looked up at her in surprise. 

“Tim has given a proposal to Martin,” she huffed, rubbing her bad leg. She watched her father’s face grow dark, and wondered, for a moment, if she had made the wrong decision in seeking his aid. Perhaps Peter’s fondness for Martin did not overcome his plans for the business. 

“I will see to him at once,” he growled before vanishing, leaving behind the smell of salt and tobacco. 

It was with little warning that Tim found himself suddenly staring down into Peter’s stormy eyes. His voice was rife with false joviality. “You have a rather difficult choice ahead of you, young man. You might never see my son again if you decide to stop pursuing him; and you will not see  _ anyone  _ ever again if you continue.” 

“Oh, no, sir!” Tim replied, pale as wax. “He has rebuffed me, and I carry far too much respect for Martin to deny that. I would have liked to have him as my husband, but I don’t wish to lose him as a friend! I do not resent him. My object was just to garner an arrangement for the company, and to find companionship. I beg your leave to apologize.” His words were as full of truth as they were of fear. Faced with the cold eye of Peter, he felt himself admit that he felt very little resentment towards Martin himself, as unfortunate the situation left him. 

Peter hummed, but did not let up. It seemed that in Mr. Lukas’s own youth, he was faced with many unwanted suitors himself. Tim was obliged to retell the whole event, and swore upon his own honor that he would leave Martin to initiate any future contact. He promised to leave that very week, and be out of Peter’s hair forever, save for any financial requirements. He apologized again and again. It was only then he was allowed to take his hasty leave, and wonder about what Jonathan Magnus might mean to the man he had wanted to marry. 

When Martin returned he was greeted by Melanie, who grunted her disinterest rather than speaking, but remained by his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know the primary form of Victorian humor was puns?
> 
> \----HIATUS ANNOUNCEMENT----   
> I will be putting this aside briefly due to the workload and demand of another work, Captain's Log. When I finish the other fic I will return to this one, don't worry! Expect a return in December!

**Author's Note:**

> I will admit, I have no idea if this counts as acceptable for safehousefest2020, but it was a wonderful excuse to suddenly switch from my other (unfinished) projects. 
> 
> Special thanks to Cormack Baldwin, my personal version of Jonathan Sims and the editor who roasted this whole thing before I could ask.   
> He still thinks it should be titled "PrEye'd and Prejudice".


End file.
